


a bad day

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is having a bad self-confidence day, because he's only human.  Grantaire tries to make him feel better, and accidentally spills his guts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a bad day

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this](http://attackofthechewenod.tumblr.com/post/55882838716/exr-au-where-enjolras-has-a-terrible-self-esteem) post on tumblr.

Enjolras is quiet.  It’s been a bad week for the whole group on a lot of fronts, and Enjolras is quiet today, withdrawn.  Combeferre and Courfeyrac handle the meeting instead, while Enjolras spends it writing, his face in a political science textbook, occasionally muttering under his breath.

About midway through the meeting, Grantaire has gathered up enough nerve to move over to Enjolras’s booth.

"Are you okay?" he asks, quietly, sliding in across from him.

Enjolras looks up at him, blinking.  ”I’m not feeling very sure of myself today, if you really must know.”

Grantaire blinks back at him.  ”You?  Really?”

"It’s been a bad week."

"But you’re — you’re  _you._   You’re sure about everything, especially yourself.  I envy your self-confidence.”  Grantaire cocks his head to the side.  ”I mean, you’re — you’re once of the literal best people on this godforsaken planet.  You’re, objectively speaking, one of the most aesthetically pleasing human beings I’ve ever seen, and you don’t give a fuck about other people’s opinions of how you present yourself and fuck, you look as good in a dress as you do in a pair of cargo pants, and that is really fucking hard to do and how the hell is your eyeliner always fucking perfect when you bother with it?

"And Jesus Christ, who sold their soul to make sure you were as fucking intelligent as you are?  Because I don’t think there’s anyone else around who can keep up with Combeferre when he starts the philosophy tangents, like, fuck, I can hardly tell Descartes from Rousseau some days, and you keep up with me on Classics shit even though I  _know_  you’re not into the minutiae of Catullus’s poetry and you’re also not fluent in Latin so you actually  _research this shit_  in between trying to save the world.

"Fuck, and the saving the world thing, I may not agree with you but there’s no way I can avoid watching you try because if anybody can save this world when it doesn’t fucking deserve it and it’s probably impossible, that stubborn bastard is going to be you and I fucking love that about you I really do — you can’t make me believe but I’d follow you into hell anyway and that’s just it, that’s how the world works — you go try and save the world and I watch it happen and you know I’ll be standing there when the cops come and when the law decides you’re too dangerous or when you pull a fucking Saint-Just or whatever is going to happen to you.  You’re like some ancient fucking hero, you know that?  You could have been Alexander the Great or Achilles or something but you’re going to wind up dying like Euryalus and you know it, I can see it in your face, but you  _don’t care_  and I should have never let Jehan read Jeanne Varlee to me because fuck, shred the cloth for bandages, prepare the rosaries, if you asked me I would probably die for you, if you asked me I’d probably do anything because it’s you and I know how dangerous that is and how doomed I am but the best part is is that I  _don’t care either_  because I believe in you and that’s it, that’s all, good night folks.

"You manage to be the most awful and the most wonderful person I know, because even though you don’t know how to deal with people you still do your best to be kind and you don’t judge people, or else I probably wouldn’t still be allowed to stick around and I love you for that, too and it’s not fair, it’s really not that you get to be so goddamn  _good_ , because even when you’re an asshole you figure it out eventually and apologize and you fix shit when it seems like nobody else would even give enough of a damn to try.

"And when you laugh, God, when you laugh it’s impossible to look away because you’re breathtaking, and I’m never going to be able to paint you like that because I’d never even get close to capturing that, that  _way_  you have about you when you’re happy, and I don’t think anyone ever could, you throw your head back and your hair does that thing, I can’t even describe the thing because  _mane_  is a totally insufficient word and I’m not going to go fucking quote Ginsberg and call you an  _angelheaded hipster_  because that’s fucking pretentious shit and if there’s anything you’re not, it’s pretentious, your utter fucking lack of pretension and I don’t know how you do that, but I bet it has something to do with Combeferre because that would be the sort of thing he does, and anyway that’s not what I’m going for, I’m talking about you, you and the way that you’re one of the literal best people in the world and any reason you have for being down on yourself right now is total and complete bullshit and that’s something I’m absolutely sure of, and you know me, my only certainty is my full glass and a fucking hangover the next morning so this is kind of important…”

He trails off to finally take a long extended breath, only to find that Enjolras is staring at him and — is he — is he _blushing?_

Enjolras is, in fact blushing, and he says, “You love me?”

"Oh shit, did I say that?"  Grantaire goes paper-white.  "Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have —"

"I’m glad you did," Enjolras says, cutting him off and looking down at the table, a small smile playing over his face.  He’s half-hiding behind his hair.  "Since I, um.  I love you, too."

"Oh."

"Mhmm."  Enjolras hums.  One of Grantaire’s hands is resting on the table, and Enjolras reaches out to take it, lacing their fingers together.  "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Grantaire breathes.  "Yeah."

Enjolras glances up at him under his eyelashes.  ”That helped a lot, actually.  I didn’t know that.”

Grantaire is blushing like mad now.  ”You’re — welcome?”

"Do you, um.  Do you want to get out of here?"  Enjolras is blushing, too.  "There’s that ice-cream parlor a few blocks away.  I know you like vanilla."

"Are you asking me out?"

"I think so.  If that’s okay with you?"

Grantaire smiles.  ”Yeah.  That’s more than okay with me.”

"Good.  Good.  Let’s, let’s go then."

Enjolras starts to slide out of the booth, but when he looks out at the rest of the cafe, he finds that literally everyone present is staring at him and Grantaire.

"We’re not going to say anything," Joly says. 

"Like hell we’re not," Bahorel responds.  "Jesus, how long have we been waiting for them to get their shit together?"

Courfeyrac sighs.  ”I owe Marius fifty bucks.   _Asshole._ ”

"We need to get out of here," Grantaire mutters, and he tugs on their still-tangled hands.  "Before the money starts changing hands."

Enjolras blinks at him.  ”Okay.”

So they go.  

They’re still holding hands when they get to the ice-cream parlor a few minutes later.  But before they go in, Enjolras stops Grantaire and steps into his space.  ”I’d very much like to kiss you now.”

"Okay."  Grantaire’s voice is small, almost disbelieving.  "I’d — I’d like that too."

Enjolras leans down just a little and puts his free hand gently on Grantaire’s face before fitting their mouths together. 

It’s soft, chaste, and better than either of them could have ever dreamed.


End file.
